


Talk to me

by dunklenacht310



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 24h diner AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Gay Sex, Harry is a klutz, M/M, Misunderstandings, Top Zayn, but like a lot - Freeform, dirty talking, mentions of phone sex, night jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 00:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunklenacht310/pseuds/dunklenacht310
Summary: “’S not ahorrible truth,” Gloria says with an eyeroll around six, when Zayn is long gone and they’re discarding their aprons to finally go back home.“He’s asex phone operator, Glo!” Harry hisses. “It’s atragedy! Ahot, sexy, unsolvabletragedy!”-Harry works nights in a 24h diner, and Zayn starts showing up during his shift, because he also works nights.A misunderstanding threatens to put a stop to things before they can even start.The key, of course, is communication.





	Talk to me

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer: I don't know or own any of the characters present in this work. I only own the plot and any eventual original character.

Harry is singing along to Lana Del Rey quite dramatically, to fight the solitude of the empty diner and the absence of co-workers. He’s in the middle of _Blue Jeans _while he sets the freshly fried donuts in the window at the counter, and the door dings open.

He thinks it’s weird that Gloria is already there for her shift, but the donuts are still scorching hot, so he doesn’t raise his eyes from them. He’s gotten burned in that fucking diner one too many times. “Hey babe, you’re early!” he says cheerfully, though, because he hasn’t spoken to another human being in something like seven hours. Night shifts aren’t always great, to say the least.

There’s a chuckle and a hum that _surely _don’t belong to little, chirpy Gloria. “I knew this diner was a good idea. Smell of coffee, freshly baked goods, and people calling me ‘babe’. What more do you want?” a warm, rich voice comments.

Harry gasps and immediately lifts his head up, making sure not to take down any donut or the whole fucking diner in the process. And _no_, it’s not little, chirpy Gloria.

It’s a man, probably Harry’s age or slightly older, sitting at the booth right in front of the cash register. He looks like complete shit if Harry’s honest, with huge, dark bags under his eyes, messy hair and not that much colour on his admittedly perfect cheekbones. This, of course, doesn’t mean the customer isn’t the fittest bloke Harry’s ever seen. His eyes are huge, framed by thick, long eyelashes, and he’s got side shavings and the rest of his hair held up in a lazy topknot, his lips are plump and perfect, and his stubble looks exactly like the kind that would leave the burn Harry loves in between his thighs and…

“Sorry!” Harry exclaims, abruptly cutting his own thoughts and setting the empty tray of donuts on the counter, failing to balance it and making the tin rattle and ding when he scrambles to catch it before it falls. The customer’s eyelids twitch at the noise. _Shit shit shit_. “Sorry!” Harry says again, also pausing the music for good measure, dumping the diner into abrupt silence and making it ten times more awkward, “I, um, I thought it was my co-worker.”

The customer arches an eyebrow. “Do you always call your co-workers ‘babe’?”

Harry clears his throat. “I might be one of those people who overuse that pet name. Sometimes I have to restrain myself not to call customers ‘babe’ and be fired.”

The customer laughs, turning the menu he took from the holder on his table in between his fingers. He has tattoos on his hands, but the rest is covered by a leather jacket. Harry wants to see if the hand tats are the start of sleeves. “Me too,” the customer says at last, “You didn’t do that good of a job at restraining yourself, calling me ‘babe’ as soon as I opened the door, though,” he adds with a grin.

Harry knows he’s probably joking, but he feels warm all over anyway. “Sorry!” he says for what feels the hundredth time, “I really thought it was my co-worker, she starts her shift in an hour but I thought she was early and I was kinda glad because I almost never get customers in my night shift, and I’m rambling you look tired you don’t need me talking your ear off I’m sorry,” Harry concludes his clever, Emmy-worthy speech by snapping his mouth shut and hoping the distance between them doesn’t let the customer see that Harry’s gone probably purple.

The lad only looks at Harry for a moment, and then chuckles, yawning. “Night shifts suck in different ways. I have one that ends like twenty minutes ago and I get _all _the people. Too many. Too weird. And I’m sleepy all the time,” he tells Harry.

Harry looks at the clock reading 5,10 a.m. “You work in a diner as well?” he asks, and then wants to kick himself in the bollocks. He would, if he could do it without the fit customer noticing.

The bloke snorts. “Something like that. I provide a service as well, I guess,” he only says.

Harry nods in a way that he hopes looks intelligent, and then sets the donut tray away, far away from his klutzy fingers, which are a menace even when there are no incredibly fit night-customers around. “What can I bring you?” he asks.

The lad hums and yawns a couple times, his tired eyes going back and forth on the menu. Then he sighs and closes it. “What’s the tastiest, sweetest thing you have?”

Harry has to bite hard on his own tongue not to grin and answer _Me_. He incredibly manages, and clears his throat. “Um, the cinnamon rolls are pretty good, in my humble opinion. The donuts as well but they’re the fried ones so they’re very unhealthy, I shouldn’t tell you this because I have to sell stuff, but they aren’t, like, eating fried things at this time of the night is incredibly unhealthy, and I value your health, like, not _yours _specifically, I mean, that too, but I meant my customers’ in general. Fuck, I’ll shut up. The cinnamon rolls.”

Harry curses his stupid embarrassment and his stupid rambling whenever he’s in close proximity of fit blokes, but there’s something about this customer, in the way he looks soft and about to fall asleep, in the way the side shavings and the leather jacket clash with the sweet glint in his eyes, and Harry feels a little hot and a little bothered. He also hasn’t had sex in an awful long while, considering that he’s in the fucking diner five days a week, doing night shifts that start at eleven p.m. and end at six a.m., so he doesn’t have that many chances to go out. He chose it. But still.

The customer chuckles, scratches his eyes with his fingertips, and Harry wants to kiss him on his forehead and wrap him in a blanket and put him to sleep. He doesn’t, though. “It is unhealthy,” he customer agrees solemnly, “Also, I don’t like fried stuff in general. I’ll have a cinnamon roll then. And a big cup of black coffee. Hoping they’ll be enough to wake me up so that I don’t crash my car on the way home.”

Harry gasps. “That’s dangerous! You shouldn’t drive if you’re so sleepy. Do you want me to call you a cab or summat?”

The customer chuckles. “No, Harry, I’m really fine. Coffee will wake me up, I promise. Been having a night shift for a month now, I know myself.”

Harry has a stroke about the customer knowing his name before he remembers that he has a fucking nametag on his chest. He touches it, and the customer grins, nodding. “’M Zayn,” he then adds.

_Zayn. What a unique name. Zayn_, Harry thinks, wants to say it out loud to roll the letters on his tongue, but he doesn’t. He just smiles, and gets the coffee going, knowing that it’ll give him an excuse not to look at Zayn. “Nice to meet you, Zayn,” he says.

Zayn hums. “You too. I hope I’ve chased away the boredom of a night shift by yourself with my sleepy presence.”

Harry laughs. “That you did, b… Zayn,” he corrects at the last minute.

“Glad to be of service, b-Harry,” Zayn replies, and Harry _feels _the grin in his tone, but when he turns to look at Zayn, he’s nonchalantly playing with his phone.

Harry fills a mug with black coffee and plates the biggest cinnamon roll of the batch, and carefully brings everything to Zayn’s booth, miraculously managing not to spill hot coffee all over Zayn’s perfect face which is even more perfect up close. Zayn raises a set of kinda bloodshot eyes at Harry, smiling and making grabby hands for the coffee, so Harry chuckles and sets the mug straight in Zayn’s hands rather than on the table. Zayn hums, takes a sip, and groans, and Harry should _not _think about that sound, not now, not ever, because they’re alone and Harry hasn’t had sex in forever and he’s pretty sure there is porn starting this way.

He’s about to open his mouth and ask Zayn what he does for a living, since he said he has a night shift ending around five a.m., but he never manages because the door dings open. He wants to roll his eyes, because he _never _has customers, and do they have to come in _right now_?

It’s not a customer, though. It’s Gloria, and her nose and eyes are red like she was crying, although when she sees Harry’s serving a customer she just smiles weakly. “Hi,” she says, “’M early.”

“Babe?” Harry frowns.

Gloria shakes her head and goes behind the counter, discarding her jacket and tying one of the small black aprons around her waist, giving Harry and Zayn her back.

Zayn is frowning as he looks at Gloria’s small shoulders. She’s barely eighteen, but she looks even younger if you don’t see her face, because she’s so petite. Harry feels very protective of her. “I’m gonna, uh…” he mutters at Zayn, pointing at Gloria with his head.

Zayn nods. “Sure, sure.”

Harry nods too, and despite not really wanting to, he leaves Zayn to his breakfast and goes around the counter, climbing the small single step there and joining Gloria by the coffee machines. “Glo, babe? Are you okay?”

Gloria shakes her head, sniffling as silently as she can, but Harry sees the two tears run down her face. “Jack broke up with me, like, half an hour ago.”

Harry hates Jack, Gloria’s boyfriend—well, ex now, apparently—because he never treats her properly, disappears for days on end without telling her why and making her worry, and he’s generally a dick, or at least he was the only time he came to see Gloria at work and Harry was there, both of them having an unusual morning shift. The lad threw an useless, unnecessary strop about being jealous of Harry in front of the whole diner, embarrassing Gloria to the point she was in tears, despite Harry telling him quite explicitly that he was into dicks.

“What?” he hisses nonetheless, “Couldn’t he have waited until a normal fucking hour? Who the fuck breaks up with their girlfriend at five in the bloody morning?”

Gloria gives Harry a small chuckle and tries to dry her eyes. “Yeah. Called me right while I was getting ready to come here. ‘S like he couldn’t wait anymore to get rid of me.”

“Did he have a reason?” Harry asks arching an eyebrow, “Not that there could ever be a reason to miss out on _this_,” he points at Gloria, “but just asking for a friend.”

Gloria smiles a bit more, and Harry internally cheers. “Yeah,” she says, “He cheated on me and realized he’s in love with the other girl. She’s cleverer, more beautiful and taller, he said.”

Harry stops trying to be silly to cheer her up, and he just sighs, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m sorry, babe. And I know you’re hurt now, but Jack was a total dick to you, so when you’ll get over this, you’ll realize that it’s good riddance,” he says as quietly as he can, before letting her go from his hug and looking at her in the face, “Besides, he’s wrong. I’m sure the girl can’t be that clever if she chose _him_,” he arches an eyebrow, “And as for the tall part, that’s not important. I’m tall and it makes me a klutz while you gracefully flit through these tables like a bloody fairy,” Gloria giggles a bit that, “And finally, you’re gorgeous, and I’m not even straight, so.”

Gloria laughs openly, her eyes now still a little red but dry.

“Harry’s right,” he hears Zayn say clearing his throat, “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he’s right. You’re gorgeous and it’s that lad’s loss. Men are stupid, babe, and I say so for certain, considering that I’m into them too.”

Harry’s brain is raging a little at thought of having just gotten confirmation that he and Zayn are sexually compatible, but Gloria just stares at Zayn for a moment, blinking, smiles, and then discreetly arches an eyebrow at Harry, because they talk about men all the fucking time, and she _knows _Harry’s type. “Thanks, um…”

“Zayn,” Zayn replies.

“Thanks, Zayn, _babe_,” Gloria completes, staring at Harry while she stresses the pet name, “I hope you enjoy your breakfast. Harry made the cinnamon rolls with his own very talented hands.”

Zayn splutters a little in his coffee, if Harry’s not mistaken, and Harry glares at Gloria while she grins and gets to work.

They don’t speak much to Zayn for the next half hour, and at some point Zayn pays for his order and then leaves. He doesn’t look dangerously sleepy anymore, and Harry sighs a bit melodramatically at the thought that he didn’t even get to ask him what he does for a living.

+

The next night, Harry’s happy to notice that Gloria seems to be doing a little better. They have a proper night shift together, on weekends, which is always fun, more fun than just chatting a little while Harry clocks out at six in the morning and Gloria clocks in.

It’s four a.m. right now, and they’re singing to Jessie J, Ariana and Nicki Minaj’s _Bang Bang_, Gloria rapping Nicki’s part from behind the counter where she’s cutting the pies into slices to set them in the window, while Harry takes care of both Jessie’s and Ariana’s parts mixing them at his own convenience. He’s swiping the floor while they sing, quite loudly if he’s honest, but they’re alone so he doesn’t think it’s a problem. The diner is literally in the middle of nowhere next to a service area which entails nothing more than a small convenience store, and the people in there are always blasting death metal through their night shift, so Harry thinks he and Gloria are fine.

At some point, Gloria lowers the volume abruptly, and Harry gasps at her, betrayed. “Right during my solo!” he shouts after screaming his lungs out for Jessie’s _See anybody could be good to you, you need a bad girl to blow your mind_. “Are you implicitly telling me you don’t like my voice?”

Gloria winces and shakes her head repeatedly, but she doesn’t answer.

Someone else does. “I think your voice is fine, babe.”

Harry curses and cheers internally at the same time, because he probably can’t admit it, but he recognizes the voice despite having only heard it the night before for the first time.

When he turns clutching the broom and almost tripping on it, Zayn is there, already sitting in the same booth he occupied yesterday, and he looks even more tired, although his eyes are glinting. “Hi!” Harry squeals, “Thanks! Sorry!”

Zayn snorts and yawns. “Shouldn’t be allowed to be this cheerful at five in the bloody morning,” he replies, with no heat though.

Harry sighs, wondering again what Zayn does for a living, but he doesn’t ask, because Zayn looks like he’s about to lose consciousness rather than just fall asleep. “What can we bring you?” he just asks.

Zayn smiles. “Sweetest, tastiest thing you have, and black coffee,” he answers.

Gloria hums. “Coffee coming. Harry’s not for sale, though, sorry.”

Harry gasps, although he’s sure it sounds more like a baby seal’s wail, and looks at Gloria with his mouth open. _I can’t fucking believe you just said that_, he tells her with his eyes while she just grins and starts brewing the coffee.

Zayn coughs and chokes and then laughs, clearing his throat as soon as he regains control of himself. “Bummer,” he says, but Harry’s not sure because he mutters it with his hand covering his mouth, and Harry decides to believe he heard it wrong to avoid having a stroke.

“We have apricot tart, if you like that?” he offers Zayn.

Zayn smiles. “Sounds lovely.”

Harry nods and gets to work to cut the apricot tart and give Zayn a big slice, while at the same time he steps over Gloria’s foot completely on purpose, glaring at her. She hisses in pain, kicks at him, but keeps laughing her arse off as she shamelessly doesn’t bring the coffee to Zayn and sets it on a small tray for Harry to bring over together with the tart.

Gloria is a little shit, but Harry’s kinda glad.

When he walks over to Zayn, he sees him texting someone on his phone, with a couple eyerolls and shaking his head. Harry sets the tray on the table and doesn’t speak, not to interrupt him, but Zayn raises his eyes from his phone and smiles. “Cheers, babe,” he says easily, going for the coffee first, taking a sip and groaning. Harry gulps down audibly, and hopes Zayn—or Gloria—doesn’t notice.

“So, what do you do that makes you lose your sleep so much?” Harry decides to ask, sounding as conversational as he can.

Zayn opens his mouth to reply, but right that second his phone goes off with a call, and Zayn sighs, standing up. “Sorry babe, ‘s work, gotta take this. I swear I’m not going outside and running off without paying.”

Harry chuckles. “No worries.”

Zayn smiles and gets out the door, just staying next to it by the window and answering his phone call.

“Well, _babe_,” Gloria comments when Zayn’s out, “A romance blooming in this shitty, nameless diner. Riveting.”

Harry shushes her. “Shut up. Romance,” he scoffs, “He’s just fit is all.”

“You have a crush on him.”

“I don’t!”

“You do,” Gloria nods with a grin, “You were looking obsessively at the clock while we were singing because you were waiting for him to show up after his shift at whatever his job is.”

Harry deems it more dignifying not to reply, so he doesn’t, and resumes his sweeping of the floor while their only customer is out.

When he gets to the entrance area, he sighs as he notices the door is ajar. It’s broken, so it doesn’t close properly if you don’t accompany it with your hand all the way. They’ve told their boss maybe a hundred times, but he still hasn’t fixed it.

As he grabs the handle to shut it, he catches a line of Zayn’s phone conversation.

“Yeah,” Zayn groans, “I think about you all the time, how well you take my dick, you make me so hard for you, I’m fucking you hard right now, can you feel it, bending you over my couch and fucking in and out of you while you scream…”

Many things happen after that.

Harry pops a boner right there and then. He squeals, letting go of the door handle too forcefully, so the door slams in his own face, hitting him on the nose. He trips on the broom he was still holding, bringing his hands to his face and horribly feeling blood trickle through his fingers, and he falls to the ground with a pained whimper, landing on his arse and feeling pain in his bum too.

Gloria gasps and runs, muttering a “Jesus Christ”, and a minute later Zayn is running back inside, taking in the mess Harry’s in, and then kneeling down next to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Zayn murmurs, “How did this even happen?”

Harry doesn’t reply, too busy holding his nose, and when Zayn grabs his wrists to lower his hands, he resists, ashamed. He’s such a fucking klutz, and Zayn is looking worriedly at him, and he’s even fitter this up close, and Harry has a bloody nose which is probably, surely, disgusting.

“Come on, lemme have a look, babe,” Zayn says a bit more forcefully, and Harry gives up.

Zayn sighs. “Not broken. Can you bring me some wet towels and tissues?” he asks Gloria.

Gloria nods and runs away, and Zayn and Harry look at each other. “All good at work?” Harry asks, because it was clearly _not _a work call, and he’s feeling a bit bummed that Zayn has a boyfriend he dirty-talks to on the phone. Also, his nose hurts, so he’s feeling kinda stroppy about that too.

Zayn frowns and then nods, a faint blush going on all over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, my shift’s over, but I have to be available for an hour after that, that’s why I come to your diner to avoid falling asleep,” he says gently, and the thing is that he sounds completely, utterly honest.

As Zayn takes care of Harry’s nose with the things Gloria brings over, Harry makes two plus two and realizes the horrible truth.

Zayn is a sex phone operator, and Harry kinda wants to ask for his number.

+

“’S not a _horrible _truth,” Gloria says with an eyeroll around six, when Zayn is long gone and they’re discarding their aprons to finally go back home.

“He’s a _sex phone operator_, Glo!” Harry hisses, “It’s _a tragedy_! A _hot_, _sexy_, _unsolvable _tragedy!”

“Why are you always so dramatic? And what’s the problem with being a sex phone operator? Every job has its dignity, you know?” Gloria glares at him a little as they say bye to Ant and Paula, their morning-shift co-workers, and then get out of the diner.

Harry gasps. “I didn’t mean it like that!” he amends, “Jesus. I just mean, like, I kinda wanted to ask him out, but I don’t know if I could deal with my boyfriend having phone sex with strangers for a living, like, I would be madly jealous all the time and we’d fight about it and…”

Gloria laughs. “Harry. You’re doing that thing you always do when you overanalyse, over-plan, predict the future and fuck it up by thinking way too far ahead.”

“Heeey,” Harry murmurs, “I don’t do that.”

“You chose a night-shift in a diner because you live alone and you’re scared that _eventually _a burglar is _surely _coming to rob you in your own house, so you thought the solution was _not _being home at night,” Gloria sighs.

Harry sighs, because she is kinda right. “But that’s a legit fear!” he complains.

Gloria nods. “Yes, I understand that. But being scared that Zayn being a sex phone operator is gonna be in the way of your blasting romance is _not _a legit fear.”

Harry doesn’t answer, but when they hug, Gloria has some more parting words. “So I suggest you look him up on Sex Book, find his work number, and have a steamy chat with him over the phone to get this out of the way,” she grins, and leaves him by his car.

Harry rolls his eyes.

But when he gets home, he paces in his room for a while, makes himself some tea, tries and fails to sleep, and then he pulls his laptop open and searches ‘Zayn’ on Sex Book, the search engine for everything sex-phone-related.

When he comes up with nothing, he realizes that Zayn probably has a nickname, and he’ll never find him. He sighs, and falls into a fitful sleep where he has weird dreams about Zayn calling him to tell him that he’d bend him over his couch, only to then ring on Harry’s doorbell and doing it in real life, or well, real dream.

He wakes up again at 3 p.m., because of his weird work schedule, and he’s harder than he’s been in a while upon waking up. Harry rolls his eyes at himself, but when he showers, he wanks to Zayn’s voice whispering filth to him on the phone.

+

Things don’t fare any better that night, when Zayn shows up at the diner again, this time a bit later than usual, when Harry only has twenty minutes of his shift left, and Gloria isn’t even there to keep him company and prevent his stupid, dirty mind from going _places_. Places where Zayn is there groaning about how good Harry looks on his hands and knees while he fucks him.

Harry almost has a heart attack when Zayn gets to the diner, because by that time Harry has a boner he hasn’t managed to will away yet. He blesses the counter covering the lower half of his body.

Zayn frowns. “No music today?” he asks, sitting at his usual booth.

Harry shakes his head, not daring to speak, and concentrating on cleaning the marble countertops.

“Babe?” Zayn asks, a bit warily, “You feeling okay? Is your nose hurting, from yesterday?”

Harry shakes his head again. “No, no,” he manages to say at last, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too much like he’s aroused, “As you said. It isn’t broken. I got it checked up earlier today. Just a bit sore.”

Zayn chuckles. “Should have trusted my word,” he replies.

Harry offers him blueberry pie when Zayn asks for the sweetest, tastiest thing they have in the house, and he’s dreading the moment in which he’ll have to bring the pie and the coffee to Zayn’s table, because he’s still rock-hard in his jeans. To his horror and delight, Zayn spares him by abandoning the table and sitting right at the counter with a small smile. He texts someone and then pockets his phone, and for a wild moment Harry wants to ask him if he does sexting as well.

Zayn must see him look at his phone, because he pats the pocket of his jacket and chuckles. “Just checking if there was any call from work,” he tells Harry, “One would think they drain me enough to properly let me go at arse o’ clock in the morning, but sometimes they call me back.”

Harry doesn’t think it should be even _legal _for Zayn to tell Harry that they _drain _him at work, because now his brain is producing very vivid images of Zayn jerking himself off while he’s on the phone with a customer, but he manages to nod and take a discreet deep breath before replying. “Yeah, I can imagine, with your job it must be quite hard at times,” he says vaguely, hoping it’s enough to open the subject.

Zayn smiles questioningly. “I don’t think I told you what I do?”

Harry smiles too, going for a grin. “Took an educated guess.”

Zayn grins too. “I see,” he just says, and then bites into the pie before even tasting the coffee, and groans.

Harry had _almost _managed to will his dick to go soft again, but all his _hard _work is ruined by that groan, because he knows Zayn always groans like that when he likes the coffee or the pastry, but now it’s different, now he’s imagining Zayn groaning like that in very different circumstances, and the boner he has will probably never fucking go away and he’ll live his life with a hard dick trapped in his jeans, forever.

Zayn says something Harry doesn’t catch, not until he hears the word “boner” come out of Zayn’s mouth, and he forces himself to tune back in. “What?”

Zayn chuckles. “You said you were wondering if a boner can stay there forever. It can’t. Boners have to go away at some point,” he says candidly.

Harry feels his whole fucking face warm up so much he thinks he’s really having some kind of stroke, and then laughs nervously, cursing himself for always thinking out loud when he’s alone and not being used to _stop talking _when Zayn’s around. “Just wondering, of course,” he tells Zayn, “For the, um, sake of science I guess.”

Zayn grins, biting again into his pie. “I’m all for the sake of science. I’ve seen some weird shit, though, I won’t lie.”

Harry chuckles, more earnestly this time. “I bet you have,” he agrees.

+

“I’m gonna die,” Harry declares that night, a week later or something. Nobody replies, of course, because he’s alone in the diner and talking to himself, but Harry can’t give a fuck about that. It’s also safe, because it’s only two in the morning, so his only customer is probably still far away from there, talking to people on the phone and telling them filthy stuff so that they can come to the sound of his voice.

Harry has almost wanked himself blind to that image, he’s searched for Zayn on every fucking sex search engine ever created, has wanked to Zayn’s dirty-talking some more, and he’s working himself into a state every night before Zayn shows up at the diner.

It’s been a whole week, and Zayn has come to the diner every single night, or morning, whatever, and they talk, but Harry has never mustered the courage to either ask Zayn out or ask about his job. Zayn doesn’t seem eager to open either of the subjects either.

Or maybe Zayn just doesn’t really like Harry in that sense.

Either way, Harry should probably just start getting rid of that stupid crush, but it’s easier said than done, because Zayn is so… _cute_.

Harry only sees him at what probably is his worst, not that it’s not perfect anyway. Almost falling asleep with his face on the table, his eyes dark-circled and bloodshot, his voice slurred. And whenever he sees him, Harry just wants to snog the living daylights out of him, his job be damned, but he can’t bring himself to really let his job be damned, not if they never even talked about _that_.

It’s fine, though. Harry didn’t really mean all the panic-rambles he had with Gloria the night he found out, because he also believes every job has its dignity. And he thinks that he’s starting to like Zayn to the point he wouldn’t mind his boyfriend having phone sex for a living.

“You’re doing it again. Thinking too far ahead. He’s not your boyfriend, he’s not even your _friend_, not until you fucking ask him out or snog him or summat,” he tells himself.

He barely has time to finish his internal—is it _external_, since he was speaking out loud?—monologue before the door dings.

Sometimes they do have customers, but it’s always weird when they show up, because the diner is not exactly in the centre of the city, so Harry doesn’t see that many people just passing by and deciding to stop for a bite, at least not during the night.

He raises his eyes from the book he was trying and failing to read, and that’s when he realizes it’s Zayn. He’s way earlier than usual, and he’s also acting weird, because he doesn’t say “Hey, babe” to Harry like he now usually does. He just smiles at Harry, a bit weakly, and sits in his booth without speaking, turning the menu around in his hands without really looking at it.

Harry frowns, and then sighs, smoothing his apron and reaching Zayn at his table. “Babe?” he says slowly, “You clock out early today?”

Zayn shakes his head, not really looking up. “Nah, have to go back in like half an hour. I just needed, like, a break,” he answers, murmurs it quietly.

Harry sighs. “Are you okay? Something happen?” he asks, because he can’t help it.

Zayn chuckles. “I don’t really feel like talking about it, babe. Sorry,” he says, finally raising his eyes to Harry, and they look a bit tired and a bit sad. Harry’s used to the tired, but he thinks he hates the sad, he doesn’t ever want to see it in Zayn’s eyes. “But,” Zayn adds, managing a smile, “I really fucking need the sweetest, tastiest thing you have in here right now.”

Harry doesn’t know why he does what he does. He’s at _work_, for Christ’s sake, and Zayn is a _customer_ and it shouldn’t go like this, but he’s sad and Harry just can’t fucking stand it. So he bends down, and places his lips on Zayn’s, just pressing a little. It’s not a real kiss, and Zayn is too astonished to even reciprocate, and yet Harry feels his whole face go on fire just with that.

He pulls away, just a little, and he has half a mind to start apologizing to the end of time, but in the end he doesn’t, because Zayn isn’t screaming or hitting him, he’s just there blinking and with his cheeks red. “This one’s on the house,” he tells Zayn, straightening his back, “We also have apple pie.”

Zayn blinks furiously for some more moments, and then a bigger smile makes its way on his lips. “’M sure it’s not as sweet and tasty,” he says, “But I’ll have the apple pie.”

Harry nods, and goes behind the counter.

They don’t speak again, and Zayn has to go away half an hour later. But they smile to themselves and each other for the whole time, and when Zayn pays for his order, he hands Harry a bill and their fingers brush, and they both smile a little more.

“Tomorrow,” Harry says to no one when Zayn is gone, “Tomorrow I’ll tell you that I want to fucking go out with you, and I don’t care if you help people wank over the phone. As long as you help _me _wank as well. In real life. With you. Together. While you fuck me. On that fucking couch you mentioned and that I can’t stop thinking about even if I don’t even know if you do have a couch.”

+

Harry is scared shitless about finally asking Zayn out, but there’s still about an hour before Zayn shows up, so he has time to chill out.

“You’re in a mood,” Gloria comments with a chuckle, “What’s going on?”

“I,” Harry declares, turning the donuts in the fryer with a tong, “am gonna ask Zayn out tonight.”

Gloria laughs. “Fucking finally. What made you change your mind? Or, _open _your mind about his _tragic _job?”

Harry grins. “We kissed last night.”

Gloria gapes. “What? We’ve been here for _five hours _and you’re just telling me this _now_?”

Harry shrugs. “Wasn’t a proper kiss. Just, like, a little peck on the lips. He was sad. I couldn’t stand it.”

Gloria hums. “I see.”

“And his job is fine,” Harry adds, “I am totally fine with him having phone sex for a living. As long as he has it with me as well.”

Gloria laughs openly, and Harry does too.

Until he realizes, too late, that he’s too distracted, and pulls a Harry on himself. One of the donuts falls off the tong he’s using to extract them from the fryer, and of course Harry’s first reaction is to try and catch it with his other hand, only for a huge splash of boiling oil to hit him on the back of his hand when he misses it and the donut falls back into the pot.

“Harry!” Gloria screams.

It hurts like a motherfucker. Harry doesn’t even scream, he just whimpers, feeling the scorching liquid burn his hand, bringing tears to his eyes as he wails a little and cradles his injured hand to his chest. An ugly, big blister is already forming on his skin, and it’s almost unbearable, the pain, so much that Harry starts to feel faint and leans into the counter, his legs shaking.

“Fuck,” Gloria says, reaching for Harry’s arm, “Harry, you gotta put it under cold water first thing, now, come on.”

Harry whimpers and shakes his head.

“Come on, Harry!” Gloria shouts, “It’s bad! You need cold water and then I’ll drive you to the ER, okay?”

Harry lets Gloria manhandle him until his hand is under the faucet, and it hurts more at first, when the cold water starts pouring on his hand, but after a moment the pain subsides just enough that he’s able to think a bit more clearly.

At last, Gloria closes the tap and then removes her apron. “Come on, babe, ER.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no. I mean yeah, I need to go to the ER for sure, it fucking hurts, but we can’t both go or we have to close the diner and if our boss realizes it he’ll fire us.”

Gloria rolls her eyes. “Then what are we gonna do?”

“I’m gonna drive myself,” he says, and then, when Gloria opens her mouth to protest, he adds, “I can do it. I’m fine, I swear, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore. And the ER is like five minutes away from here. Don’t worry, babe, okay? Just stay here.”

Gloria gives up at last. “Okay. But I want you to text me when you get there.”

Harry promises, and then runs to his car. His hand throbs and hurts like a bitch when he wraps it around the wheel, the skin tightening and making the blister break, and it’s painful and disgusting, but what the fuck is he supposed to do? So he starts the engine and drives to the ER, cursing himself when he realizes he won’t see Zayn tonight, and all his plans of asking him out have been destroyed.

There’s not that many people in the ER, and a nurse tuts when she looks at Harry’s wound, gently guiding him to a row of chairs and making him sit. “Just a second and we’ll take care of you, okay?” she says. Harry just nods. His head is spinning a little. He never did well with pain, and this is the biggest pain he’s felt in a while, so much more than when he burned his fingers by touching an tin he forgot he'd literally just taken out of the oven.

The nurse, _Madison _says her nametag, stops another nurse as she passes them by. “Kristin, I need Doctor Malik for this one,” she says gesturing to Harry’s hand with her head, “I have a kid with pneumonia in the first room, I can’t deal with a second-degree burn as well. I think he just clocked out, run after him and call him back.”

Kristin sighs. “Why do I have to do it? He’s gonna throw a strop. Said he’s got somewhere to be. I don’t wanna deal with _him_.”

Madison probably gives Kristin a tenth-degree burn with her eyes, because Kristin sighs heavily and then nods, going away to look for Doctor Malik and cursing something under her breath.

Madison smiles at Harry. “Come with me, young lad. Doc Malik’s gonna fix you in no time, he’s the best doctor we have in this ER,” she says, guiding Harry through a small corridor.

Harry sighs. “Sorry you had to keep him here for me. Working nights already sucks,” he can’t help but say.

Madison hums. “’S his job, he knew what he was getting into. Oh, there he is!”

Harry looks at the other end of the corridor, and he thinks the problem is not the burn anymore, because Doctor Malik coming towards them is _Zayn_, wearing a white coat and a foul expression on his face.

Until he sees Harry, gapes, blinks, freezes.

Harry feels like he’s probably dreaming, and even if he isn’t, his hand is about to fall off and it _hurts_, so he doesn’t exactly _think_ about what he says. “You’re not a sex phone operator?” he shrieks.

Zayn only gapes more, and Harry vaguely hears nurse Madison snort before she clears her throat and just leaves Harry with Zayn, trotting off.

“What?” Zayn hisses.

Harry’s head sways. “I…” he says, but then he almost loses his balance, and Zayn is on him in an instant, steadying him with a gentle but firm hand on his bicep.

“Ah, shit,” Zayn mutters when he sees Harry’s hand, “C’mon, in you go,” he then says, ushering Harry inside a room labelled as _Doc. Zayn J. Malik, Emergency Medical Specialist_.

“You’re not a sex phone operator,” Harry repeats dumbly as they get inside the studio and Zayn makes Harry sit on a small bed covered in surgical paper towels. Harry looks around, barely has time to take in the desk cluttered with paperwork, a computer, the framed degree in emergency medicine on the wall, before Zayn is standing in front of him with a frown. “No, I’m an ER doctor, Harry,” Zayn just says, “Why the hell would you… no, never mind. Your hand first. What happened?”

“I dropped a donut in the fryer and tried to save it but the oil splashed on me,” Harry tells him, “Gloria said she would drive me but she couldn’t ‘cause we would have had to close the diner so I drove myself, but when I grabbed the wheel of my car the blister broke and it’s gross and it hurts.”

Zayn sighs and rolls his eyes. “Of course. Jesus. I'm there every night and most of the time I just fear for your life if I’m honest.”

“Hey,” Harry drawls, but he stops speaking and just hisses in pain when Zayn examines the wound and then applies some cream on it. It only stings at first, until it starts to burn, and Harry instinctively tries to retreat his hand from Zayn’s grasp.

Zayn doesn’t let him, and shushes him a little. “I know it hurts, I know. It’ll pass, I promise,” he says gently, his eyes lowered on Harry’s burn.

They’ve never held hands. They haven’t even _touched _before last night, when they kissed, and Harry was planning on asking Zayn out tonight but then he hurt himself and he wasn’t supposed to see Zayn at all but he did because Zayn is not a sex phone operator, he’s an ER doctor for some reason.

“You’re not a sex phone operator,” Harry repeats one more time, because he feels like he needs to clarify that.

Zayn, who is tightly bandaging Harry’s hand, hums. “No, Harry, I am not, and I don’t even know why you would think that,” he answers, not coldly, but quite firmly.

Harry sighs. “But you… that phone call! You were outside the diner and you were talking very dirty to someone on the phone and you said it was work and then I almost broke my own nose!”

Zayn raises his eyes to Harry, blinks, and then some sort of realization hits him, because he rolls his eyes, and nods. “Fucking Liam,” he mutters to himself, and then shakes his head, “No, I can’t do this right now. Work. I’m at work. I am fucking working and I won’t give in to the impellent need to snog a fucking patient.”

Harry really thinks he’s dreaming now. “You wanna snog me?”

Zayn gasps, strapping the bandage in place. “Sorry. I think out loud too. And yes. But I’m working. So no.”

“Nurse Madison said you were clocking out,” Harry points out, “Sorry I kept you. She said you had somewhere important to be,” he adds in a mutter, because where did Zayn have to go? Did he have a date? At five in the morning?

Zayn chuckles. “Yeah. A shitty diner with a fit waiter,” he clarifies.

Harry gapes. “Oh,” is his only, very clever, Emmy-winning reply.

“Yeah, oh,” Zayn chuckles again, and then finally looks at Harry in the eyes, “Can you, um, can you wait for me outside? So we can finally sort ourselves out? If you feel okay. If not, wait for me anyway and I’ll just give you a ride home. You can’t drive like this, I’m already mad enough that you did to come here.”

Harry nods, and stands up, making sure not to sway too much. “I can wait. Of course. I’ll wait for you. For three hours if it’s necessary. But please don’t take three hours. My head’s spinning a little. My hand hurts.”

Zayn chuckles, and he raises a hand, slowly, to tuck a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. He then realizes what he’s doing, looks around with a curse even if they’re in his studio and the door is closed, and sighs. “It’ll take me ten minutes. Just to set things straight here and get out of this coat. Okay?”

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says, and goes out the door.

While he waits for Zayn, Harry calls Gloria, who shrieks at him that he didn’t text her when he got into the ER and she was afraid he’d smashed his car on the way there. Harry tells her sorry, and that Zayn took care of him.

“What? Is he hurt too? He hasn’t showed up here yet, I was planning on how to gently deliver him the news that you’re a klutz and almost lost a hand,” Gloria says.

Harry chuckles. “No, he's not hurt. And I think he knows I'm a klutz at this point. He’s, um, he’s not a sex phone operator. He’s an ER doctor. There’s been a, uh, a misunderstanding.”

Gloria laughs so hard Harry’s eardrum is probably burned as well now, but then she calms down, and tells Harry to tell Zayn that he needs to make sure Harry gets home safe, because he’s a klutz. Harry tells her Zayn already plans on giving him a ride home or something, and Gloria settles down a little. “Sorry I can’t come back to work, babe,” Harry says at last.

Gloria groans. “Of course, Harry, are you daft? You just burned your fucking hand. I can take care of the last hour of our shift by myself, don’t worry. You go sleep and let me know how you feel tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah. Cheers, babe. Goodnight.”

Zayn is out of the ER when Harry closes the call. He’s wearing his usual clothes, jeans and his leather jacket, but as usual, Harry doesn’t pay the clothes much mind because he’s too distracted by his cheekbones and eyelashes and the whole _Zayn_-thing going on with his face.

“How you feeling?” Zayn asks, slowly approaching Harry who is sitting on a bench next to the parking lot, in front of the entrance to the ER.

Harry sighs. “Better. Doesn’t hurt that much. My head stopped spinning. I’ll be fine.”

Zayn nods and sits next to Harry. “It wasn’t work, the call I now know you overheard that night,” he says, abruptly and embarrassedly.

Harry feels his stomach drop a little, because if it wasn’t work, then Zayn has a boyfriend? But he let Harry kiss him? And he smiled?

“It was my friend Liam,” Zayn adds, his cheeks going red under the harsh lights of the neon sign reading _Emergency Room_.

“Do you usually talk to your friends like that?” Harry asks, his voice pathetically squealing.

“No!” Zayn exclaims, drives his fingers through his hair and messes up his topknot, which he then has to untie and re-tie. Harry has never seen him with his hair loose, and he kinda wants to. “Fuck, this is awkward,” Zayn mutters, and then takes a breath, and looks at Harry in the eyes. “Okay, so. My best friend, Liam, he works nights too, in another ER, and he has this co-worker who is always hitting on him, yeah? It’s become a bit of a problem. So he texted me that night and asked me if I would call him and dirty-talk to him, so that he could put me on speaker and make sure that co-worker overheard. So that he would think Liam has a boyfriend and leave him alone. That’s what happened.”

Harry blinks. He can’t fucking believe that _this _was all that was going on that night, and he almost broke his nose over it. “But you said it was work!”

“What was I supposed to tell you? ‘Sorry, fit bloke working in the diner, I gotta go answer this call but just so you know, it’s gonna be dirty-talking, but it’s a friend!’. It was too embarrassing. So I said the first thing that came to my mind, and I told you it was a work call.”

Harry sighs, and doesn’t reply.

“You also said that you knew what I do for a living,” Zayn points out, “I thought you’d figured out I was a doctor when I helped you with your nose.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I genuinely thought you were a sex phone operator, Zayn,” he replies, chuckling a bit at the awkwardness and embarrassment of it all.

“You said that you took an educated guess! I thought you meant you saw _this_,” Zayn says, and opens the lapel of his leather jacket. He has a badge around his neck, with his picture and name and profession written on it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I haven’t exactly paid attention to what you were wearing this past week, Zayn. I was too busy drooling over how perfect your fucking _face _is.”

“Will you go out with me, Harry?”

Harry thinks he heard it wrong. Maybe his head is clouded with the aftermath of burning himself, maybe he’s really just dreaming, maybe none of this is real. But when he looks at Zayn in the eyes, he sees the blush on his cheeks, and the expectant expression. “You wanna go out with _me_?” Harry hisses, “Really?”

Zayn snorts. “Jesus, Harry. Do you think I spent a whole week losing _one more hour _of sleep after my shifts because of the fucking pies in your diner? I got close to fucking sleep deprivation so that I could see you, of course I wanna go out with you. Fuck,” he sighs. “I saw you a week and a half ago. I got out of the ER and I stopped at the convenience store next to your diner ‘cause I have food cravings sometimes and I wanted ice-cream. I smoked a cigarette outside and I saw you, singing your lungs out to Beyoncé, holding a broom like it was a mic, and I’d had a shitty fucking night, but you made me laugh. And I could see you were fit, too. So the next day when I clocked out, I stopped at the diner. And you were still fit. And a klutz. And fun. So I kept coming, but I didn’t know why you then started being so awkward around me, so I never asked you out. Now I know you were awkward ‘cause you thought I was a prostitute.”

“Sex phone operator!” Harry exclaims. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, just saying. Even if you were a prostitute. If you wanted to be, you could be. It would be fine. But I just thought you were a sex phone operator, I swear. And I thought about it a lot, wanked to the thought of it one too many times, and decided that I like you so much that I wouldn’t care if my boyfriend helped people wank over the phone. As long as he does that for me as well. Fuck, I didn’t mean to say this part out loud,” Harry curses himself under his breath.

Zayn does something in that moment. He grabs Harry’s good hand and smiles, brightly, with his whole face, until his eyes are in happy slits and crinkled, and all his teeth are showing with his tongue behind them. It’s quite overwhelming to watch, if Harry’s honest.

“Okay,” Zayn only says. “Then I’ll drive you home now. You can leave your car here, it’s safe. And tomorrow, if your hand doesn’t hurt too much, we can go on a date in the afternoon, before we start our fucking night shifts.”

Harry is already nodding before Zayn even says the last sentence, and he keeps nodding, even if his head is starting to sway again.

And then Zayn leans over, and kisses Harry. It’s not a proper kiss, again, just a press of their lips, but Harry feels warm all over, again, and they stay like that for a couple moments before Zayn pulls away and helps Harry up from the bench.

Harry does his best not to fall asleep while Zayn drives, but just in case, he puts his address on Zayn’s Maps app to make sure they don’t end up in another fucking dimension or something.

+

When Harry wakes up in the afternoon, he honestly thinks that he just dreamt the whole thing until the pain in his hand confirms that it did really happen.

He only has vague memories of Zayn driving him home and even coming in and putting him to bed, tucking him under the covers and also giving him another peck on the lips before going away.

Harry then remembers that he has a date with Zayn, and he sits up abruptly, with a gasp. “I have a date with Zayn?” he asks out loud, to literally no one, and sounding incredulous to his own ears.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand, and when he retrieves it, he sees a text from _Zayn_. He doesn’t remember exchanging their numbers, but he opens the text anyway.

_Hey babe. I exchanged our numbers last night with your phone. I planned on actually asking u for your number but u were already out. Just wanted to check up on u._

Harry’s heart is hammering its way out of his chest when he types a reply, struggling because his left hand is bandaged, so he can only use his other hand. _Hi babe. Yeah m fine. Do we rly have a date today?_

It takes Zayn only a couple seconds to reply, but to Harry they feel like two days. _Yeah. If u still want to. Maybe it was just the hecticness of being injured talking?_

_NO I WANT TO_, Harry replies as fast as he can.

Zayn sends him a laughing emoji, a fucking laughing emoji, and then keeps typing. _No need to shout. But I like that you’re eager. Me too. I still want to. Even though you thought I was a prostitute._

_SEX PHONE OPERATOR ZAYN_, Harry answers, laughing.

_Aight, aight. So do u maybe wanna come over for dinner? I can come pick you up since your car is still at the ER. Then u can come there with me and pick it up._

Harry nods frantically before remembering Zayn can’t see him. _Okay yeah, I’d love to. What do I bring?_

_Yourself. S all I want, tbh._

“Oh, fuck, I’m dreaming, I’m sure I’m dreaming,” Harry tells himself, but he only replies with _Okay then. Good to know. What time?_

_Six alright? My shift starts at ten._

Harry chuckles. _Mine starts at eleven. Six is perfect. I’ll wait for u then._

_Okay babe. See you later. Try not to wet your bandage if you shower. And I left you light painkillers if it hurts too much._

Harry looks at his nightstand, and finds a small bottle with five or six little pills. He doesn’t feel like it hurts that much, though, so he just smiles. _Cheers. I don’t think I need em tho. I feel fine. Doctor must have been pretty good._

_Or maybe you hurt yourself so much in the course of your life that your body has just stopped feeling the pain._

Harry laughs. _Could be. Lemme go take a shower now. Gotta get pretty._

_I’ve seen u with a headband and an apron, babe, and I don’t think u can be any prettier._

Harry almost feels his phone fly from his hand at that compliment, but he manages not to break the device or his own fingers, and holds on tighter._ Cheers. U r not so bad yourself._

_Cheers, ahah. Now go. See u later._

_Yeah babe, see u xx_

Harry drops the phone on the mattress, and takes some deep breaths. He’s going on a date with Zayn. At his place. For dinner.

He stands up from the bed and sings Rihanna at the top of his lungs while he showers. But he pays attention to what Zayn says, and doesn’t get his bandage wet.

+

Zayn picks him up at six on the dot, and they don’t speak much on the ride to Zayn’s place, but they smile stupidly at each other and at nothing at all, so Harry thinks they’re fine.

Zayn’s house is maybe a fifteen-minute drive away from the ER where he works, he realizes when Zayn parks his car and Harry follows him inside. It’s one of those open-space-ish kind of homes, where there’s just a big room that acts as a living room with a kitchen and a dining table on the other side, and Harry sees doors to two other rooms which are probably Zayn’s bedroom and the bathroom. There’s a big couch in front of a tv screen, but Harry doesn’t spare it a second glance because thinking about Zayn’s couch still makes his dick twitch even now that he knows Zayn never meant the whole ‘bend you over my couch’ thing. But the seed had been planted in Harry’s mind that night, and he doesn’t want to pop a boner for no reason at the beginning of their date, so Harry takes his eyes off the black fake leather cushions and focuses on the food set on the dining table.

It’s a lot, and Zayn kinda looks expectant, so Harry makes a show of examining the delicious-looking bowls of samosas and couscous and salads one by one before smiling. “This all looks amazing, Zayn, thanks, I’m starving,” he says.

Zayn chuckles. “I’m glad I made too much then. Didn’t get my doses right. I always only cook for myself, and when Liam—my best friend I told you about—is here we always end up calling home delivery for pizza or Chinese or Thai.”

Harry laughs, and sits. “I do the same with Niall and Louis, to be honest. They’re my best friends. They both live a couple blocks away from me. You said Liam is also an ER doctor?”

“Yeah, Liam is also a prostitute,” Zayn sighs dramatically as he fills both his and Harry’s plate with samosas.

Harry pouts. “Zaaaaaaayn,” he whines.

Zayn laughs. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Don’t pout at me. You always pout. Don’t do that,” he adds, more seriously.

Harry retreats his lower lip from where he stuck it out, and his stomach drops a little, because he’s wondering how the fuck he fucked up just by pouting.

Zayn sighs, and leans a bit to be closer to Harry. “Don’t pout, because I feel the unbearable need to snog the fuck out of you when you stick that lip of yours out, but I made dinner, and I want to eat with you like a normal person before we do the snogging,” he amends, speaking quietly and with a small grin on his face.

Harry’s insides twist again, in a completely different direction, and he has to clear his throat twice not to just say _fuck it _to the dinner and sit on Zayn’s lap and ask him to bend him over the couch. But he doesn’t want to do that, because it’s a date, and he hasn’t had a date in ages, and he’s _never _had a date _with Zayn_, and Zayn made all this food for him, so they’re gonna eat like normal people, as Zayn said. “Okay then. Eating. Then snogging,” he agrees.

Zayn chuckles, and they eat.

It’s so easy, talking to Zayn. It’s like now that the stupid, unnecessary embarrassment is gone, they can’t stop talking to each other, whether it be about their job, their friends, why Harry took a night shift at the diner (Zayn doesn’t laugh about the weird discomfort Harry feels his own house at night), why Zayn chose to become a doctor.

“Well, I know it’s lame, but like, I wanna help people,” Zayn tells Harry with a small smile when dinner’s almost over. “And I’m not squeamish. You can’t be squeamish if you’re a doctor, especially if you’re an ER one. Some people get up to weird shit, babe, I swear to God, once I had to extract a Batman action figure from a guy’s rectum, it was the worst night of my life, although maybe it was even worse for poor Batman.”

Harry doesn’t want to laugh, because that must have been painful for the guy, but then Zayn snorts and they both laugh anyway. Harry feels tears come at the corner of his eyes, and dries them, trying to stop his giggles while Zayn does the same.

When they sober up, Zayn clears his throat. “That night. Two days ago. When I, like, wasn’t feeling great. When you kissed me.”

“It wasn’t a proper kiss,” Harry says, feeling his cheeks get warmer.

Zayn shrugs. “It felt like one,” he says simply, “But, like. I wanna thank you. Not for the kiss per se. But I needed the cheering up, that’s why I came to the diner in that small break I had. You always cheer me up.”

Harry smiles. “I’m glad. What… like, what happened? If you wanna tell me. Otherwise it’s totally okay.”

“Someone died. In the ER,” Zayn says, fidgeting with the hem of the table cloth and making Harry’s heart constrict a little, “This guy got stabbed in the stomach during a bar fight. And there was nothing me and the other doctors could do,” Zayn tells Harry in a murmur, “It happens sometimes. But it, eh, it got to my head a little bit. My colleagues saw that, and they told me to get out, take a break, take a walk. I didn’t even realize I was coming to see you until I set foot in the diner. And then you understood I was sad even if I didn’t say it, and you gave me the sweetest, tastiest thing in the house. Which, by the way, is something I only kept saying in the hope you’d realize I meant you. Little Gloria got me all figured out from night one. You were a bit more oblivious.”

Harry chuckles, but only quietly. He strokes Zayn’s arm, because he knows it must be difficult, his job. He can’t even imagine what it must feel, watching someone die in your arms and knowing you were the one supposed to save them. But Zayn has said that Harry cheers him up, and he’s good at doing that, everybody always says it, so he’s gonna do it even _better _for Zayn. “When you asked what the sweetest and tastiest thing we had was, the first time,” he reveals with another smile, “I had to physically bite my tongue not to tell you ‘Me’.”

Zayn laughs. It’s that kind of laugh again, with the crinkly eyes and the toothy smile, and Harry gets a bit distracted by Zayn and his whole perfect fucking face, so he almost doesn’t realize Zayn is slowly inching closer, the laughter gone from his lips but not from his eyes.

Harry grins. “Is it time for snogging now?” he asks, because he can’t help it.

Zayn’s hand wraps around the nape of Harry’s neck. “Shut up, babe,” he whispers, and then they’re kissing.

It’s not just a small peck on the lips, although it starts like one. But this time, their lips don’t stay frozen and motionless. Harry immediately starts to move his again Zayn’s, and Zayn opens up his mouth, so Harry slides his tongue inside, and Zayn tastes like the food he made and cigarettes, and it’s intoxicating, really. It’s so intoxicating that Harry can’t stand being so far from him, awkwardly bent towards each other from their respective chairs, so he stands up and sits in Zayn’s lap, straddling him without interrupting their kiss, and Zayn groans a little.

When Harry sits on his legs, though, the hem of the table cloth gets stuck under his arse, and Harry feels it tug. The plates, bowls and glasses on the table rattle with the ominous sounds of the moment before a crash. Zayn chuckles and he’s quick to grab the table cloth and extricate it from them, so the things don’t fall. “Klutz,” Zayn murmurs on Harry’s lips.

Harry just laughs and kisses Zayn harder, his hands going for Zayn’s hair and untying the topknot, finally. He’s not disappointed by the sight. Zayn’s hair is long, though not as long as Harry’s, and it’s soft and curly at the ends, perfect for carding your fingers through it, Harry thinks.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Harry mutters when they come up for air.

Zayn chuckles. “Have you seen yourself? When you said you wanted to look pretty, I didn’t think you meant the tightest jeans ever created and a shirt open to your stomach, babe. It’s quite overwhelming. In a good way,” he replies, and then goes for another kiss.

The tight jeans Zayn likes, Harry likes too, but they’re starting to be a bit of an issue when he realizes how hard he’s getting just from that snogging. He can feel Zayn’s hard too, and Harry can’t help but grind his hips a little bit, just for friction. Zayn gasps and his hands palm Harry’s hips, harder than earlier, and then Zayn grabs a firm hold of them and stands up, with Harry wrapping his legs around his waist. “Couch,” Harry manages to say before the need to kiss Zayn is too unbearable to be ignored.

Zayn doesn’t question it, and half-walks, half-stumbles backwards until he’s gently dropping Harry on the couch. Harry heaves a sigh when his back hits the fake leather with a smooth swishing sound, but Zayn doesn’t give him much time before kneeling on him, Harry’s legs still around his waist, and Zayn’s hands propped on the backrest on either side of Harry’s head. “Why the couch? I have a bed,” Zayn says, and then searches Harry’s eyes when he speaks some more, “But it’s fine if you don’t, like, don’t want to. Like, whatever you feel like doing is fine. I just mean…”

Harry chuckles, kissing Zayn again and interrupting him. “I do want to. It’s just, I’ve been thinking about your couch a lot,” he decides to confess.

Zayn frowns. “What?”

“When you were on the phone that night. You said that you’d bend the person over your couch. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that.”

Zayn laughs. “It was fake, though.”

Harry shrugs. “This is real now. So is the little fantasy you created in my mind.”

Zayn shifts in between Harry’s legs, their hard-ons catching together and making them both hiss. “Okay,” he says at last, “But are you sure? As I said, we don’t…”

“Zayn, if you don’t fuck me soon, I might die,” Harry says with an eyeroll, and hits Zayn on the chest, but it’s his bandaged hand, and pain jolts through it.

Zayn arches an eyebrow. “Watch your hand,” he says.

Harry grins, and uses his other hand to palm Zayn’s dick through his jeans, feeling him hard and straining against the material. Zayn groans and his arms shake where he’s keeping himself up on the backrest. “What were you saying about my hand?” Harry asks.

Zayn chuckles. “You’re a cocky little shit. When you’re not threatening your own life that is,” he declares, and then ducks down for another kiss.

He only holds himself upright with one hand after that, and uses the other to unbutton Harry’s shirt and his jeans, while Harry does the same for him, although he has to admit he struggles more with the whole one-handed movement than Zayn. Soon enough, though, they’re both discarding their clothes, until they’re in their underwear, and Zayn gently grabs Harry by the hips and makes him lie down, his head on the armrest, before sliding a bit further down his body and peeling his boxers away as well.

Harry groans when he’s fully exposed, feeling his hard cock slap unattractively against his lower stomach. Zayn takes a breath. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, and then starts placing kisses down the vee of Harry’s groin, his other hand wrapping around his dick and starting to tug.

Harry has barely time to groan, before Zayn’s hand is gone. “Fuck, no wait, before we start, I gotta get the things if we're staying here,” he says, kisses Harry quick and dirty, and then he runs to the bedroom.

Harry takes the chance, and he stands up, so when Zayn shows up again, he finds Harry bent over the armrest, on his stomach and with his feet on the carpet.

“Oh, fuck,” Zayn says, his voice a bit hoarse as he gets closer.

Harry, despite the position, manages to grin at him. Zayn chuckles, drops lube and a condom on the couch by Harry’s head, and the next moment he’s running a hand up Harry’s spine, until he’s also bent over Harry, his mouth at Harry’s ear. “Didn’t think you really had a kink for this,” he whispers.

Harry shivers. “I didn’t know before listening to you dirty-talking about it,” he says honestly.

Zayn hums, and keeps running his fingers on Harry’s sides, until finally one of his hands snakes to Harry’s front, and his fingers are on Harry’s cock again, wanking him slowly, smearing the precum around the head with his thumb and almost making Harry see stars just with that. “What did you think about?” Zayn asks, low and raggedly, as he grinds his hips against the small of Harry’s back, getting some friction on his own dick there, “You said you wanked to the thought of me being a sex phone operator. What did you think about?”

Harry groans when Zayn starts tugging harder. “Ah, I thought about you dirty-talking to me. Telling me how good I felt when you fucked me. You talking about bending _me _over your couch,” he finally admits, feeling his cheeks get red.

“Don’t need a phone for that,” Zayn says, grabbing the lube and drizzling it on his fingers. The next moment, Harry feels one of them at his entrance, and he pants a curse when the finger slides in. “I can tell you right now,” Zayn adds, “How fucking beautiful you look bent over my couch. How tight you feel around me, and it’s just one fucking finger, I can’t even imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.”

Harry whimpers at that, feeling himself get harder, and he didn’t think it was possible. “Fuck, Zayn, you’re gonna make me come too soon if you keep doing this.”

Zayn chuckles in Harry’s ear. “What, babe, talking to you? I have more to tell you,” he says in almost a whisper, adding a second finger and starting to scissor them, which makes Harry squeeze his eyes shut because if he turns only slightly and sees Zayn’s face, he’s sure he won’t last for Zayn to fuck him, and he doesn’t want that, absolutely not. “I can tell you that while you were imagining me bending you over a couch, I was imagining bending you over the counter at the diner. We were always alone in that place, it was so easy to imagine you locking the door and coming to me, and then I would back you up to the counter and bend you over it and fuck you senseless against it, probably taking down the cash register and some trays in the process, but it was a fantasy, so it didn’t matter.”

Harry whines. “I’m ready, fuck, Zayn, fuck me, please, fuck me and talk to me, I’m gonna come, I’m not gonna last, fuck.”

Zayn chuckles. “Got a dirty mouth yourself, don’t you?”

Harry doesn’t even reply. He just grabs the condom and slaps it against Zayn’s chest, and when he does, he sees Zayn’s face, with a smirk in place, flushed cheeks, and sparkly eyes. It’s a sight is what it is, so Harry raises his back a little and cranes his neck at an awkward angle, but manages to trap Zayn’s lips in a kiss, while Zayn sighs and rolls the condom on at the same time before closing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and keeping him in that half-bent, half-standing position while he lines himself up and starts pushing.

Harry arches his back, muttering nonsense and curses until Zayn finally bottoms out, and then his back gives up, and he falls forward, completely bent over again, but Zayn doesn’t let him go far, because he also bends over Harry again, giving a first, small thrust and placing his mouth against Harry’s ear again. “So tight, babe,” he whispers, “Even tighter than I thought, you feel so fucking good, I wish you could see yourself, it’s like you came out of one of my wet dreams, I swear, so eager for me to fuck you, you’re beautiful.”

Harry groans and bucks his hips backwards. “Move, Zayn, please, fuck me.”

Zayn obeys. He grabs a hold of Harry’s hip with one hand, and his shoulder with the other, and starts fucking in and out at a steady pace, grunting in Harry’s ear, curses and compliments and “You look so innocent when you’re at the diner, and look at you now, on my couch, it’s filthy and wonderful and I fucking love it”.

Harry almost comes at that, and Zayn must notice, because he chuckles and keeps talking to Harry. “It’s not even dirty-talking, it’s just what you do to me, babe,” he tells Harry, “From the second I fucking saw you and you were all embarrassed and awkward, I wanted to fucking _ruin _you.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanted that too, I swear, do it to me, whatever, whatever, just fuck me, harder, Zayn, please…”

Zayn doesn’t need to be told twice. He groans louder and slides out, almost to the tip, before slamming back in, and setting a faster pace, pushing Harry’s body down on the leather of the couch. Harry’s cheek is pressed against it, and his hair is everywhere, but Zayn gently pushes it away from his face. “I love your hair but I wanna see your face when I make you come,” Zayn says nonchalantly, like him merely mentioning making Harry come doesn’t almost give him an orgasm on the spot.

“I’m already close, Zayn, fuck, please, please.”

Zayn nods next to Harry’s ear, licking the shell and making him shiver, before adjusting his angle and hitting Harry’s spot dead-on. Harry shouts, digs his fingers in the couch, and he’s sure his mouth is unattractively open, but Zayn doesn’t seem to mind when he just kisses Harry, sloppily because of the position, his tongue darting out to plunge into Harry’s mouth and a string of saliva connecting them when he pulls back.

Harry didn’t know he could be so filthy, but he’s glad that Zayn showed him, somehow, because it’s fucking hot.

“So filthy and so hot,” Zayn comments like he’s reading Harry’s mind, and then he reaches around Harry’s body for his dick, tugging at it while still slamming against Harry’s prostate.

It doesn’t take more than three thrusts for Harry to grunt a curse and stretch his whole body underneath Zayn, coming all over Zayn’s hand and probably the couch too—he kinda hopes the leather’s washable or Zayn will have a problem—and his toes curl against the carpet, his legs shaking.

“Fuck,” Zayn gasps, and a second later he’s coming as well, grunting in Harry’s ear and shooting inside the condom, his hips stuttering so hard he makes the couch move a couple inches with a screeching sound.

They recover their breaths enough for Zayn to pull out and get rid of the condom. He comes back with a wet, warm towel, with which he takes care of wiping the come off Harry’s stomach and then the couch. Harry looks at him, rested against the other armrest, and Zayn arches his eyebrow. “It’s washable,” he just says.

Harry chuckles. “Oh. Okay. Was wondering about that.”

“You were wondering if my couch was washable while I fucked you? I must have sucked, then.”

Harry laughs, and grabs Zayn by the shoulders to make him nestle in between his legs. Zayn laughs too and goes willingly, sighing and leaning his side against Harry’s chest. “That was something,” he says slowly.

Harry chuckles. “Yeah. _Something _might be an understatement, though.”

Zayn isn’t laughing or even chuckling anymore, and he just sits up a little, looking at Harry in the eyes. “Harry, I… I didn’t ask you out just to fuck. I, um, like, I don’t do one-offs, and I hope I’m not a one-off to you, because I really like you, babe.”

Harry smiles, and kisses Zayn, slowly and hard, wondering how the fuck this man can shower him in filth while he fucks and then be embarrassed about properly dating the next second. “I don’t do one-offs either, and I certainly don’t want you to be a one-off,” he tells Zayn, “So we’re okay, I think. And you didn’t ask me out, technically. You asked me _in_, because we’re inside for our date.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Or _you _asked me in, since you were begging me to fuck you the whole time,” he retorts.

“Heeey,” Harry pouts.

Zayn’s eyes flash a little, and the next moment he’s lightly biting on Harry’s stuck-out lower lip, dragging it a little between his teeth and then sucking it into his mouth, making it become a proper kiss the next moment, hard and fast and everything good. “I told you not to pout at me,” Zayn declares, panting, when they come up for air.

Harry chuckles. “Not complaining. Not in the slightest.”

They stay in silence on the couch for some minutes before Harry speaks again. “Zayn?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sure you’re a really good doctor. But… if you ever feel the need to get another job, I think you would be a _sick _sex phone operator.”

**Author's Note:**

> I laughed a lot while I wrote this, I hope you did too while you read it.
> 
> Let me know what you're thinking :)
> 
> I am also on Tumblr as wont-you-stay-till-the-am.tumblr.com, come hit me up if you wanna talk.
> 
> Till next time!


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